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WALKING IN DARKNESS.
THE PURITAN POET.
[Gregory.]
THROUGH the wood where the serpent lies hidden asleep,
If indeed he can sleep when a mortal is near ;
Up the way that is narrow, the path that is steep,
With no guide for my footsteps, no help for my fear :
Only this — that He knoweth the way that I tread,
And His banner of crimson is over my head.
With the loneliness awful pressed into my soul,
With no voice for companion, no grasp of a hand
With the dimmest of longings for dreamiest goal,
With the reeds to support me, the oaks to withstand :
With this only for solace — God knoweth indeed
Where the poverty galls, of what things we have need.
